


The Grave Digger

by Beki1507



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bipolar Disorder, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mentions of Canon Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28640424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beki1507/pseuds/Beki1507
Summary: Ian knew death. He was an EMT; it was part and parcel of the job. It’s different though when it’s your own grief, when the death directly affects you. He closed his eyes on the world for a moment. Tired, his body sore, covered in dirt.----------A canon-divergent, AU follow on from the graveyard scene in 8x03. I feel that scene gets overlooked a lot but for it being only 20 seconds long, it has stuck with me for years.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	The Grave Digger

**Author's Note:**

> Although Ian's story is pretty much identical to canon in this, Mickey was never a part of it. The storylines that would have included Mickey in canon would still have happened, just with different characters and Ian never had the same connection with them. 
> 
> Mickey and the Milkovich's never knew the Gallagher's in this particular world. 
> 
> tw: this story makes two reference to Monica's suicide attempt. One is simply in passing, the other is more descriptive. Also, a non-graphic mention of a non-canon death.

As the fractured headstone slipped back to the ground, Ian sighed with resignation and sat back on the recently disturbed soil. He trailed his hand through the dirt before staring out to the distance, the early morning sun slowly infiltrating the cemetery. He could still smell the lingering scent that had knocked all of them sick the previous night. His family had done some fucked up shit over the years, but digging up their dead mother to recover the meth that his sister had stashed under her body was probably high up on the list. Very high up. 

He stared at the broken headstone. Monica Darrgen Gallagher. 50 years old. Bipolar. Drug addict. Mother of 6. Mom to them on occasion. 

Ian thought back to that Thanksgiving. How she had been in the corner of the kitchen. How easily your mind can push you over the edge. When he realised how fragile life could be. She wasn’t around when he was diagnosed. The months of refusing to medicate. The endless comparisons to Monica. They didn’t see what they were doing. They couldn’t understand that they were different. The same disorder but different people. It both annoyed him and pushed him closer to Monica. 

So when he was arrested, when the MPs were sicced on him, dragging him from his home and locking him away, he knew she would be the only one to understand. He’d had to hide his relationship with her. Going behind his family’s back to speak to her. 

And now she was gone. 

When the body had dropped from the coffin, dressed in the wedding dress, “the beautiful, tortured, worm infested Monica” as Frank had so eloquently put it, he realised that she would never come back. Ian knew death. He was an EMT; it was part and parcel of the job. It’s different though when it’s your own grief, when the death directly affects you. He closed his eyes on the world for a moment. Tired, his body sore, covered in dirt. He failed to notice the presence behind him, slowly casting a long shadow against the ground. 

“Looks like quite some damage there?” The voice broke his reverie. Brusque and a tad accusatory. Ian glanced back, shielding his eyes from the ever rising sun. 

“Yeah.”

“You see, I know this isn’t a fresh burial. You wouldn’t happen to know why my digger isn’t where I left it yesterday, would you?”

“Nope. Can’t help you there.” Ian replied, not in the mood to defend their actions. 

He’d returned for closure. After the tattoo, Bear Back, the unsuccessful talk with Fiona and the whole meth drama, he’d realised that sometimes you just have to accept that grief can’t be overcome by distractions. 

“Your mom?” The voice uttered behind him. 

“Yeah.” Ian stood from the ground, dusting his already dirty body down and turned to look at the guy. 

“Sucks man. Lost mine too.” Ian took in the man before him. Shorter than himself, black hair, blue eyes, attractive even in his green jump suit emblazoned with the cemetery logo. “Look, the gates haven’t opened yet, got another hour or so but if you wanna stay here, I’m not gonna say anything.”

“Thanks. You work here?” Ian questioned, unsure as to how someone becomes a caretaker for the dead. 

“No, I just like wearing the uniform and turning up at the crack of dawn to stand in a graveyard.” The guy uttered, unable to hide his irritation, “Yes, I work here.” 

“I’m Ian. Gallagher.” He said as he threw his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the name on the broken headstone.

“That’s nice, Ian Gallagher.” Rolling his eyes at the introduction. The guy sighed when he realised he was being a douche. Ian was clearly not in the best frame of mind, “Mickey Milkovich. I’m gonna be honest, you look like shit. When you’re done here, I’ve got a cabin over near the main entrance. Got a sink and some soap. You can wash the evidence of your illicit grave digging off your skin.” Ian stared at Mickey, who was failing to hide the smirk on his face. He nodded his head before sitting down on the ground once more. 

****

About 20 minutes had passed before Mickey heard the rapping on the door of his cabin. It wasn’t a big office, but then his actual office was the graveyard itself. He had all he needed for his 9 hour shifts. A coffee machine and mini fridge, a stool and table, a comfy chair – not that he got to use either that often - a couple of magazines plus a radio. Most of his days at the cemetery were spent on his own. He liked it that way. He wasn’t the most sociable of people, especially in recent years. Some people would be freaked out by his job but he liked the solitude. When they had a big job, he would get extra guys in to help him, but he mainly just made sure the grass was kept trim and the place looked respectable. Today was a quiet day. No planned burials. 

He opened the door and let in the dirty red headed figure. 

“You want a bottle of water?” 

“Sure. Thanks.” Mickey handed over the bottle before pointing out the sink in the corner. A green towel was draped off a hook by the side. Ian quickly washed his hands and face in the Irish Spring soap. 

Mickey watched from his chair, knowing that it was inappropriate to be finding this obviously grieving man attractive but understanding that he wasn’t blind and Ian was hot. After finally drying his face, feeling slightly refreshed, he turned round and sighed contentedly. He perched himself on the stool near the sink.

“I’m sorry we borrowed your digger.” He uttered, realising that Mickey probably wasn’t about to rat them out for their grave robbing. Admittedly, they didn’t rob the grave in the normal sense. Merely retrieved something from the grave. Not the body. Definitely not the body. 

“Quickest way to dig a grave. Don’t blame you. You gonna tell me why?” Mickey handed over a packet of cookies, with Ian gladly taking one. “Not often we get people digging up a grave and then putting it back to how it was before, albeit with a broken headstone.” Ian winced at that. He had tried to find a way to restore it but realised quickly that he couldn’t. Broken headstone for a broken woman - he guessed it fit.

“Meth.” Mickey coughed, his sip of water coinciding with the revelation.

“Say what?” Ian proceeded to regale him with the whole sordid affair, leaving Mickey amused and slightly bewildered. Nothing really shocked him. Growing up on the Southside with parents like his, doing the things he did, and now working in a graveyard where he didn’t know the people but he knew their stories, he thought he’d heard it all. However, someone digging up their own mom to recover the meth that they had stashed in the casket? Definitely different. 

“So, we got it back and handed it to her psychotic ex-boyfriend.” Ian finished off, ending the story with another sip of the water. 

“Can see why you needed the digger now. Don’t think you would have got a permit for exhumation based on those reasons.” Ian smiled at the absurdity of the previous evening. “Your mom the first person whose died on you?”

“That I cared about? Yeah. Older relatives have died but yeah, first one that I actually care about fully. I feel like a freak for caring because the rest of my family don’t. She wasn’t there for most of our lives. But I do. I care.” 

When he was younger, Ian knew his mom wasn’t like the other mom’s, even by Southside standards. When she was there, they could never rely on her being around for long. The longest in his memory was the time between Debbie and Carl. Not many years between them and Monica managing to stay around until Carl was about a year old. And then gone once more. 

She continued to dip in and out of their lives. He remembered the incident with the roof when Carl was about 7 years old. Standing up there, thinking she was a bird. A bird who had her wings and could fly. Thankfully, the firemen were able to bring her down. It resulted in an emergency admission, only for her to disappear again after the 72 hours were up. It was another eighteen months after that when she rekindled with Frank and along came another baby – Liam. Then within months of his birth, out of their lives again. 

He’ll always remember the next time she came back after leaving Liam with Fiona. He recalls vividly Fiona and Monica screaming at each other in Sheila Jackson’s house before both of them started crying. “You were my mother too.” Past tense. She gave up on Monica many years ago but he couldn’t. Not fully.

Maybe it was the fact that she was the only person in the house that he was fully related to. They were all Frank and Monica’s. He was just Monica’s. In so many ways. Too many ways? Maybe. Then the diagnosis came and suddenly he was even more Monica’s child. He realised he must have drifted off into his own world when Mickey’s voice interrupted his thoughts. 

“It’s not a bad thing to care. Fuck, I’m an orphan now. Parents were both shitty but I still care that they’re gone. Lost my sister when I was 17 too.” 

“I’m sorry.” It was the first time that Ian noticed a crack in the guy’s demeanour. 

“Yeah, me too. My sister should still be here. I wasn’t there to protect her and she ended up…,” Mickey cleared his throat, chasing back the tears that threatened to fall. “Fuck. She killed herself. I was in Juvie at the time for assault. Had I been out, I would have been able to stop her.”

“Not necessarily. My mom tried to kill herself in the next room to us. She is, was, bipolar. Cycles of mania and severe depression. It was Thanksgiving. Just took herself into the kitchen and slit both her wrists. If she hadn’t have knocked over the bottle, we probably wouldn’t have heard until it was too late.” Mickey exhaled heavily, still forcing back the emotion. Ian realised his recollection was possibly not the best thing to be divulging. He wanted to go over, offer some comfort to him but it felt inappropriate. “So, how did you get this job?” Ian asked, changing the subject. 

“Parole officer. When I got out of Juvie, I was about to turn 18. My dad was in prison, my mum and sister dead. I was living with my brother. Not much hope of anything. My P.O. found this job, which I thought was fucking shitty to be honest, but turns out I liked it. Anyway, 6 years later, I’m still here. The old guy who had this job before me moved to Florida last year. I stepped into his role. They should have given me a lackey to replace me but budget cuts.” Mickey glanced at the clock on the opposite wall and sighed. “Right, well you can stay here for a while but I’ve got to do some work now, open the gates you know. Most people tend to come through them to visit their loved ones.” Ian stood from his seat and walked behind Mickey towards the door. 

“Thanks. I promise you I won’t steal your digger again. Actually, it was my brother Carl but…” He shrugged, allowing Mickey to fill in the rest. 

“Just ask next time.” Mickey grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the table, scribbling down his number, “Look, I don’t do this, but if you ever need to talk, text me. Don’t phone, I won’t answer.” He handed the paper to Ian before both of them left the cabin. Ian smiled and pocketed it in his jeans. He made a mental note to remove it before throwing his clothes in the washer, because as soon as he was in the house, they were coming off. He parted ways with Mickey once they walked through the gate. 

****

They exchanged one or two messages over the following days. Mickey making sure Ian was alright. Ian realising that he was definitely attracted to the guy but unsure how to let him know. 

**Mickey - 14:07:** Come by when you get chance. Want to show you something.

Ian was convinced that what he hoped Mickey would show him wouldn’t actually be what would happen. The thought crossed his mind of going to the cabin and Mickey being there naked, offering himself up. However, he reasoned that it was highly unlikely. The guy probably wasn’t even gay. He shot a text back saying he would come up the following day before his night shift started. 

****

Mickey was leaning against the cabin door when Ian walked towards him. There was a cigarette dangling from his left hand and a cup of coffee in the other. His coveralls were dirtier than they had been the previous time, smudges of dirt on his hands. Admittedly, it was later in the day. 

“Glad to see you made an effort.” Ian snickered, looking Mickey up and down. The other man simply shook his head, stubbing his cigarette out against the wall before dropping it into the coffee cup. 

“Funny. Some of us actually work hard.” He pushed open the cabin door and placed his cup inside. “Come on then, come check it out.” Ian was confused by what Mickey was about to show him. However, as he followed him through the lines of different graves, he realised they were heading towards his mom’s. 

He could see it from about a fifty feet out. His heart swelled and he could feel a small smile begin to creep onto his face. As they stood in front of the grave, Ian was overcome with gratitude.

“No one should have a damaged headstone. I got a friend to sort something out. He owed me a couple of favours. I know it’s not exactly the same, but at least it’s intact.” 

Rendered speechless by the gesture, Ian simply turned towards Mickey and with a subtle nod from the other man, kissed him gently. 

**Author's Note:**

> I toyed with the idea of the grave digger being an original character. Ultimately, I felt that Mickey was the natural fit so I revised his back story. I understand that a lot of the grief Ian felt in the beginning of season 8 was the loss of both Monica and Mickey, although the latter is never explicitly stated. (The guy lost his mom and the love of his life within days of each other!) However, for the purposes of this story, his grief is solely for Monica. 
> 
> Also, I apologise for killing off Mandy, but without Mickey around and not knowing Ian, I feel her story could have been more tragic.
> 
> Also also, feel free to leave kudos and reviews, be they good or constructive.


End file.
